


Drunk Words, Sober Thoughts

by chezamanda



Category: Marvel (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (2012)
Genre: Bars and Pubs, Drinking, Drunken Confessions, F/M, Marriage Proposal, Surveillance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-03-16
Updated: 2013-03-16
Packaged: 2017-12-05 12:03:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,259
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/723083
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/chezamanda/pseuds/chezamanda
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>While eavesdropping on Clint, Natasha overhears something she never expected.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Drunk Words, Sober Thoughts

**Author's Note:**

> Written for [Trope Bingo](http://trope-bingo.dreamwidth.org/) [in vino veritas/drunkfic]. Thanks to the Hive Mind for feedback. As per usual, just borrowing the characters with nothing to show for it in my bank account.

Perhaps it was her paranoid nature, but sometimes when Clint went out, Natasha would follow him. She convinced herself it wasn’t so much spying as surveillance - something could happen and he might need back-up. Though if she were completely honest with herself, she was just worried about something happening to Clint. This feeling of dread had only intensified since they graduated from being partners in the strictly professional sense to being partners in the romantic sense as well. Keeping herself concealed proved difficult at times - Clint hadn’t earned the nickname “Hawkeye” for nothing. 

Tonight, Clint was holed up at his favorite dive in Bed-Stuy with a bug that she had sewn into the collar of his shirt. Three floors above the bar, Natasha was listening in to everything he said - which consisted of ordering beer after beer. A couple pigeons were keeping her company as she sat in the dark, dusty storage space. Through the earpiece she could hear the muffled din of the bar’s jukebox playing what Clint considered “real music.” Considering the place still had a jukebox was telling of its status among other New York bars. Natasha was pretty sure that the owner hadn’t added any music to the jukebox since 1979.

Out of nowhere, Clint struck up conversation with the bartender after ordering another drink (he was up to four at this point). Natasha pressed on the earpiece and leaned forward.

“Drinking away woman troubles, huh?” the bartender responded. “Well, you’ve come on the right night. She leaving you?”

“No, not really,” Clint said.

There was a sound like a glass being set down. “Knocked up?”

“Nope.”

“Well, it’s usually one of those three that I hear - cheating, leaving, or pregnant,” the bartender said, “what’s your girl’s deal?”

Clint took a moment before he answered, “It’s me, actually.”

“That’s always the real reason behind the problem, buddy.”

He laughed quietly and Natasha could see the self-deprecating smile as he ducked his head. “No, I want it to be more permanent and I’m not sure if she would say yes.”

“So, you’re saying you want to marry her?” the bartender asked incredulously.

“Yeah,” Clint paused and there was some rustling before he continued, “I even got a ring, but I dunno if she’d even wear it.”

Natasha’s heart was suddenly somewhere up around her throat and she felt a little dizzy at this admission. She couldn’t put words to what she was feeling. Marriage had never even been a consideration for her. It was something normal people did and she was far from normal. Things were better than they had been in the past, but she still never pictured herself in a permanent relationship and certainly not as someone’s wife. It was too dangerous - love could get you killed, or worse, the people you cared about killed.

And yet, Natasha found herself attracted to the idea. 

“Man, you don’t have much to lose,” the bartender said. “If she says no, then she says no, but at least you tried.”

“She might also kill me,” he replied, making the bartender laugh, and added quietly, “no, really.”

About an hour and a glass of whiskey later, Clint was good and plastered by the sounds of his slurred speech. The bar was closing and Natasha gathered up her gear into her backpack, making her exit down the fire escape. She saw Clint as he was stumbling out of the door.

“...T’sha?” he asked, blinking at her.

“Decide to climb into a bottle tonight?”

“Yeah... lot to think’bout,” he mumbled, attempting to zip up his coat. 

Natasha reached over and fixed it for him. “Want some company tonight?” she asked.

“Dunno how much fun I’ll be,” he said.

“I didn’t mean like that, Clint,” she answered with a smirk.

Clint’s apartment was only a block away, though it felt a little longer with him leaning on her for support. She took the keys when he kept dropping them at the entrance to the building. Once they had made it into his apartment, Clint fell onto his bed face first and fully clothed. Natasha made sure everything was locked up before she changed into one of his t-shirts. It was too worn to see which one it was, but it was soft against her skin and smelled like him. 

Clint made a muffled sound when she crawled into bed beside him. The street light that filtered in through the windows allowed Natasha to just make out his features, but she could see that his eyes were open now.

“Tasha?”

“Yes?” she asked, pulling the covers up around them.

“If I asked you to marry me, would you?”

Sighing, Natasha pressed her forehead against his. “This isn’t a no, but can we talk about it tomorrow when you’ve sobered up?”

“Tash, c’mon, m’not drunk,” he grumbled.

“You couldn’t even get your key and passed out in your clothes, Clint.”

He grumbled again and tucked his face into the crook of her neck. The stubble rasped at her skin and Natasha had to fight the sudden rush of arousal that sprang up because of it. _Not now, not like this,_ she reminded herself.

“You smell like me,” he mumbled against her skin.

“Because I’m wearing your shirt,” she said, stroking his hair.

Outside the window, Natasha could hear people yelling at each other on the street. Their words were muffled but didn’t sound like English. She lay awake as Clint fell asleep in her arms and listened to the muted noise of the city. The more she thought about it, the easier it was to picture herself married to him. It wouldn’t be a typical marriage, but nothing they ever did was typical. If they could make being partners work after he had been sent to kill her and then later become physically intimate, marriage wasn’t exactly out of the realm of possibility. Stark was still working on the tower, perhaps it wasn’t too late to ask for just one floor instead of two.

Clint was a little worse for wear the following morning and shuffled into the kitchen with eyes roughly the size of pinholes. Natasha had run out before he woke up and ran out for coffee and piroshkies from the Russian place around the corner. They really were the best thing for a hangover, aside from rehydration and some painkillers. Natasha let Clint eat while she drank her tea and picked at her rhubarb piroshky. 

“Feeling better?” she asked once the color had returned to his face.

“Mmph,” he grunted around his mouthful of food and swallowed. “What am I eating?”

“A piroshky.”

“Are there more?” he asked, looking hopeful.

Natasha laughed. “Just mine, but it’s mine.”

Clint brought out his most effective pout which earned him a piece of her breakfast. He didn’t appear to be as into the rhubarb one as he was his ham, cheese, and spinach piroshky. 

“So you want to marry me?” she asked blithely and watched Clint nearly choke on his food.

“I told you that last night didn’t I?” he replied, coughing.

She nodded and took another sip of her tea. 

“I... yeah,” he said, scratching at the back of his neck, “if you want to, that is.”

Natasha stood and walked over to Clint’s side of the table, cupping his face with both hands until he met her eyes. Though he still looked hungover, there was a mixture of fear and doubt in his eyes that made her heart clench. She leaned down to kiss him gently.

“Nothing would make me happier.”


End file.
